uise, while making a long, tedious run from
Mazatlan to Callao on the Main, baffled by light head winds and
frequent intermitting calms, when all hands were heartily wearied by
the torrid, monotonous sea, a good-natured fore-top-man, by the name of
Candy--quite a character in his way--standing in the waist among a
crowd of seamen, touched me, and said, "D'ye see the old man there,
White-Jacket, walking the poop? Well, don't he look as if he wanted to
flog someone? Look at him once."

But to me, at least, no such indications were visible in the deportment
of the Captain, though his thrashing the arm-chest with the slack of
the spanker-out-haul looked a little suspicious. But any one might have
been doing that to pass away a calm.

"Depend on it," said the top-man, "he must somehow have thought I was
making sport of _him_ a while ago, when I was only taking off old
Priming, the gunner's mate. Just look at him once, White-Jacket, while
I make believe coil this here rope; if there arn't a dozen in that 'ere
Captain's top-lights, my name is _horse-marine_. If I could only touch
my tile to him now, and take my Bible oath on it, that I was only
taking off Priming, and not _him_, he wouldn't have such hard thoughts
of me. But that can't be done; he'd think I meant to insult him. Well,
it can't be helped; I suppose I must look out for a baker's dozen afore
long."

I had an incredulous laugh at this. But two days afterward, when we
were hoisting the main-top-mast stun'-sail, and the Lieutenant of the
Watch was reprimanding the crowd of seamen at the halyards for their
laziness--for the sail was but just crawling up to its place, owing to
the languor of the men, induced by the heat--the Captain, who had been
impatiently walking the deck, suddenly stopped short, and darting his
eyes among the seamen, suddenly fixed them, crying out, "You, Candy,
and be damned to you, you don't pull an ounce, you blackguard! Stand up
to that gun, sir; I'll teach you to be grinning over a rope that way,
without lending your pound of beef to it. Boatswain's mate, where's
your _colt?_ Give that man a dozen."

Removing his hat, the boatswain's mate looked into the crown aghast;
the coiled rope, usually worn there, was not to be found; but the next
instant it slid from the top of his head to the deck. Picking it up,
and straightening it out, he advanced toward the sailor.

"Sir," said Candy, touching and retouching his cap to the Captain, "I
was pu